


The Girl in the Corner

by Precipice



Series: Nath [2]
Category: Cthulhu Mythos - Fandom
Genre: Fix-It, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-03
Updated: 2020-01-03
Packaged: 2021-02-27 08:14:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22093930
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Precipice/pseuds/Precipice
Summary: In which Asenath Waite asks for help and gets it.
Series: Nath [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1586722
Kudos: 12





	The Girl in the Corner

**Author's Note:**

> Dedicated to blanket goblin. <3

The morning sun poked its pale face over the roofs when the train finally arrived in Arkham. 

Asenath had spent the better part of the journey crying – quietly, lest someone heard, even though the train car was empty – until she ran out of tears and could only stare dully through the window. Fear, regret, exhaustion had fought a bitter war over her trembling heart, until the only one left standing on the battlefield of her soul was the singular resolve of a person who did not want to die.

She would have died. Had she remained in her father’s house, she would have died. And nobody would have known.

Her fingers found her mother’s necklace underneath the scarf, the coat and the blouse. The Deep amulet for luck – the relevant Aklo symbols (the direct translation of which could be interpreted as ‘my will be done’), carved into a sizeable piece of nacre – seemed to almost jam itself between her thumb and index finger. Every May-Eve, one of the younger priestesses would throw a handful of similar amulets into the shallow waters for the children of Innsmouth to dive after. Asenath had participated too, and even though she had never managed to find a pebble to keep in her pocket until the next May-Eve, she had enjoyed this little ‘ritual’ immensely. It had been one of the few joys allowed to her.

She was still holding the amulet when she finally got off the train, her tired feet almost causing her to trip.

Almost.

***

Arkham, as seen through the window of the train car, appeared older and bigger and richer than Innsmouth, in more or less the same ways the Marshes were older and bigger and richer than the Waites.

Her father had respected the Marshes. Her father had honored Innsmouth. Her father had also travelled to Arkham as frequently as he could. One time, after being gone for over a week, Asenath had heard her father explain to Moses – not that his servant had asked – that Arkham was the place where a man like him, Ephraim Waite, should live. Arkham of the witch blood and the sweet water, where wise men such as himself were not forced to whore themselves out in exchange for a handful of gold and a bucketful of fish… whatever any of that was supposed to mean.

Asenath had also heard her father complain about the Library of a place called the Miskatonic University, which was located in Arkham – specifically, about how the wealth of knowledge that could be found there was guarded by a man of great tenacity and little ambition, too much of a miser to share that knowledge and too much of a coward to use it himself.

A man named Henry Armitage.

***

The man named Henry Armitage turned out to be short enough for Asenath to look in the eye without craning her neck.

He was also old – older than her father, in fact. And quiet…

… Arkham almost overwhelmed the girl as she found her her way to the Library, what with the people and the automobiles and the stores. The worst part came last, though – a large beast, snarling and growling, just outside the building; if not for its chain, the animal would have torn her to pieces…

… but the man was quiet – a beckoning kind of quiet, the kind of quiet that politely asked you to fill it with words and patiently waited until you found the right ones.

She did find the right words, eventually – her father’s name, first and foremost, and then his, no, hers, her books’ titles, and finally....

… Asenath found herself sitting in a coffee shop for the very first time in her life, drinking tea with as much sugar and milk as she wanted and nibbling on a slice of apple pie. The place was warm and light and beautiful, all soft colors and textures, and Asenath almost wished she could stay here forever.

Her father would visit the only restaurant in Innsmouth every once in a while, where he would lunch with the likes of Marsh and Gilman. Sometimes, they would bring along their children, in which case her father trotted her out as well, all dressed up and instructed to only speak when spoken to and eat everything on her plate.

Asenath recalled the manner in which her father would address the waiter – a distant relative of the Gilmans and a close relative of his own servants. In comparison, Henry Armitage said ‘please’ and ‘thank you’ to the woman who brought them the order.

They sat in silence for a long while – until Asenath finished her pie. Only then did Armitage ask:

“Are you sure he's dead?”

The blood did not freeze in her veins, but it certainly felt like it.

“I… I’m not. I’m not sure. I didn’t check.” A difficult pause, because she needed this man to trust her, but she did not know whether he would prefer to trust the girl who was going to die or the girl who wanted to live. “I hope he is.”

Armitage emptied his cup in one, two, three gulps before replying:

“So do I.”

***

The spare bedroom in the Armitages’ house was small – more of an afterthought than an intention, but the bed was soft and the bathroom was nearby, and what more could a homeless person want?

Mrs. Armitage seemed almost pleasantly surprised – apparently, her husband had remembered to call home and warn her that they would be having a guest, but had forgotten to clarify that said guest would be a smallish girl with a travel bag made from an old blanket.

Asenath had spent the rest of the day in the Library, half-asleep in a secluded corner, while Armitage had gone about his duties. At noon, he had brought her a sandwich and some water. While eating, she had finally noticed the very intentional, almost pointed way the other librarians had been ignoring her presence – as if Armitage had warned them about it.

About her.

Mrs. Armitage, on the other hand, gave her a tour of the house and extra custard at dinner, as well as the key for the spare bedroom.

Asenath unpacked slowly. The clothes barely managed to fill even half of the narrow closet. The blanket-bag disappeared in a drawer. The comb, the toothbrush and the sewing kit ended up on the nightstand.

The books had been given to her host as a gesture of good will. Armitage had seemed surprised by the ease with which she parted with them, but not as surprised as Asenath had been by his charity. She had expected – hoped for, rather – help and advice, not shelter and food.

The girl’s nervous hands began to turn her mother’s necklace. The amulets were both foreign and familiar to the tired eyes and the alert mind – images and letters, rough and smooth, round and square, blue and green, opaque and translucent...

She fell asleep long before she heard the clock tower of the nearby church strike midnight.

***

Asenath had been in Arkham for less than a week when she got her first job.

Admittedly, it was because of Armitage – or rather, Dr. Armitage, as she was supposed to call him now that she worked in the Library.

“To be perfectly honest, we've always needed more help around here, but as you can see for yourself, our work isn’t exactly suited for the faint of heart,” he remarked while they compared Ephraim Waite’s handwritten translation of the Pnakotic fragments to the Library’s own copy.

“Is that the most important quality to have?” Asenath could not help but ask. “Courage?”

“Courage is vital, yes – to dare to seek the fact behind the myth and the truth inside the legend,” Dr. Armitage looked up from the parchment and into her eyes. “But so is curiosity – to want to do so, because you would rather gaze into the abyss even as you fall into it. But the most important quality, in my humble opinion, would be integrity.”

“Integrity?” Asenath had never heard this word before.

“We do not collect knowledge here just for the sake of amassing a treasure trove of secrets and wisdom. We collect it in order to protect it – both from the ravages of time and from the hands of people such as your father. Should there be a leak – either accidental or purposeful – the damage could be incalculable and irreversible. We need strong people in our ranks – or rather, people of strong principles.”

“Principles?” Now this word Asenath was familiar with, but not in this particular context.

Dr. Armitage’s back, ramrod-straight though it was, seemed to stiffen, if the squared shoulders were any indication. It was more frightening that it should have been, coming from an elderly man not much taller than her.

“Why did you come here, Asenath?”

She thought about the maps in her father’s study – all those little dots and lines, most of which meant nothing to her.

“Because I… because I didn’t know where else to go.”

“Why is that?”

She thought of her father’s twisted face when he pronounced the name of the man who sat across from her.

“Because… my father seemed to hate you and fear you in equal measure.”

“And why don’t you hate and fear me?”

She did not need to think this time – she did not think at all.

“Because I hate and fear my father more.”

“And do you hate and fear those people who are like your father?”

She did not know anyone who was quite like her father; then again, she did not want to know such a person, unless said knowledge would keep her as far away from them as possible.

“Of course I do.”

If her honesty pleased him, he did not let it show. He tapped the pencil he was holding once, twice, thrice against the table’s scratched surface.

“Ephraim Waite is in a coma.”

Asenath knew what the phrase ‘wait for the other shoe to drop’ meant – Moses and Abigail had been talking, and she had asked them about it, and Abigail had been in a good mood that day, or at least entertained enough by the girl’s question to answer it.

What Asenath did not know was that she had been waiting ever since Armitage asked her whether she was certain she had killed her father.

“His servants drove him from Innsmouth to the hospital in Newburyport on the same day you arrived in Arkham. The newspaper reported it as the result of an attempted burglary. He is not expected to survive.”

When she exhaled, it came out as a sigh of relief.

“Neither was I.”


End file.
